


Cliches

by ShirleyAnn66



Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: F/M, the fluffiest fluff you can imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Heather is nervous, Beck is clueless, fluff ensues.





	Cliches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #288 - cut in the LJ community Writers_Choice.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Jericho; no infringement is intended, and this is just for fun, not profit. I'm just taking them out to play for a little while. No characters or plot bunnies were injured in the creation of this fic.
> 
> **Warning:** Definitely a little cracked...
> 
> **A/N:** Posting some old fics from Fanfiction.net over here. Apologies in advance for anyone subscribed to my profile; there's going to be a flurry of posts and all of them old fics. :)

 */*/*/*/*

Beck wondered if he looked as bemused as he felt. He watched Heather set up her bedroll, her movements jerky and awkward. He had removed his uniform shirt, and she had stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, and then started talking. And she had been - well, babbling was the only word for it - ever since.

Beck had quickly lost track of her ramblings. It wasn't his fault that he had fallen off the conversation train, he thought piously. He had focused on her when she began to speak, but when she looked at him with those clear (albeit panicked) blue eyes and bit that full bottom lip, he was suddenly - and painfully - aware that they were alone in this tiny house, and for the first time in months, bombs weren't dropping and bullets weren't flying, and he had more than an even chance of making it through the night in one piece.

He crossed his arms, cocked his head and tuned back into Heather's voice.

"...comes from the days of sailing ships, but why do we still use it today? Or what about..."

Beck tuned out and watched as she glanced at him with wide, uncertain eyes. He was dimly aware that she began to speak even faster, but he was busy trying to work out what he could do about the constant stream of words. A whole night with her babbling at him, while adorable, endearing and utterly charming, wasn't quite how he would like to spend their few precious hours away from the demands of war and Jake and Jericho.

Of course, whether or not she would like to spend their time in the same way was anybody's guess, although he'd been trying to figure it out for the last few months. In his defense, it was difficult to make time for personal things when he was in charge of the largest hostile armed force within ASA territory and they were fighting a civil war. As of 06:00 this morning, however, an official cease fire existed as all three combatants made arrangements to meet at an undisclosed location to (hopefully) negotiate a truce. And so, taking advantage of the relatively peaceful moment, he and Heather had set out on this overnight trip to assess the damage in one of the outlying areas of the territory Jericho controlled.

And now here he was, listening to her voice and not having a clue what she was talking about, and wishing he could tell if she would be receptive to a change in their relationship. His pursuit of her could best be called...delicate, Beck thought. In his more whimsical moments, he felt like some stealthy predator, trying to cut her off from the rest of the herd - not because she was the most vulnerable, but because she was the most luscious. And tasty.

Of course, he only thought like that after too many nights (and days) without sleep, when the only things keeping him on his feet were willpower, adrenaline and thoughts of Heather. Otherwise, Beck knew his pursuit of her was, well, almost invisible. Besides the constant demands on him because of the war, he had to reluctantly admit that he was clueless when it came to initiating a romance. He hadn't dated since he got married, and that was too many years ago to bother counting. He was basically as clueless as a (very young and sheltered) schoolboy, and just as nervous about approaching her. Besides, he was a commanding officer; he was used to giving orders and having them be obeyed. Somehow, he didn't think Heather would appreciate him barking "Naked. Now." at her, especially when he hadn't even kissed her yet. Not that he'd ever given that particular order; his wife - may she rest in peace - wouldn't have appreciated it either, and he'd kissed her plenty of times.

Beck wasn't even sure if Heather was as attracted to him as he was to her, although judging from the riveted look on her face earlier when he removed his uniform shirt, she definitely wasn't indifferent. He hoped.

He tuned in to Heather's voice.

"And where did other clichés come from? I miss the Internet, because I could have just googled, and - "

He tuned out again, mesmerized by the movement of her lips and the look in her eyes. Honestly, he didn't care what she was saying if he could only shut her mouth with his. Well, not shut it, exactly, of course, but she'd definitely have difficulty talking with his tongue in her mouth and he shouldn't have thought that or he'd have to make sure he kept his back turned towards her for the next little while, and oh, dear God, she's got him babbling now, too.

"What?"

He started, and stared at her. "Did I say that out loud?" he asked, alarmed.

"Yes!" she no longer looked uncertain, but insulted. "What do you mean, I've got you babbling now! Haven't you been paying attention to what I've been saying?"

"Every word," he assured her solemnly.

She glared at him with narrowed eyes, hands on her hips. "Oh, really?" she challenged. "So where did the phrase "cut the mustard" come from? Hmmm?"

"I'm not one of your students," Beck replied, a bit more defensively than he intended.

She slowly swept her gaze down his body and back up again, and Beck's breath caught when their eyes met. "Obviously," she drawled, "but that doesn't let you off the hook. Tell me where "cut above the rest" came from, or what about "make hay while the sun shines", "don't count your chickens before they hatch", "cut off your nose to spite your face", or - "

Beck clamped a hand over her mouth. He leaned into her until his lips were hovering over her ear and he said softly, his voice husky, his breath whispering across her skin, "If I admit I tuned out, and apologize, will you stop with the clichés?" He was rewarded by her shiver and a tiny whimper, muffled by his hand. He pulled away enough to look in her eyes, his eyebrows raised in question.

She nodded vigorously.

He slid his hand off her mouth, his thumb stroking sensuously over her lips. He slowly pulled her closer as he looked deep into her eyes. He was gratified by what he saw there, and by her hands sliding up his arms to his neck, but savored the anticipation for another long moment.

"What about fish or cut bait?" Heather finally blurted, and he laughed as he kissed her.

#####


End file.
